Page 9 of The Omega Trials: Part Two

I hold back my retort and swing my legs off the side of the bed to rifle through a pile of clothes on the ground. Finding a pair of decently clean workout shorts, I get up and say to him, “C’mon, let’s go to the gym. Promise you’ll feel better after punching me in the face a few times.”

He huffs a weak laugh. “Yeah, let’s do it. Those guys died way too quickly last night. Let me go change real quick.” He heads out.

“Oh, hey,” I hear him say awkwardly from the common room.

I freeze without realizing until the tug of my lungs forces me to break my held breath. Her soft voice floats into my room, and I curse my body’s reaction. “I was wondering when you were going to come join us.”

“Y-You want me?” he stutters. I quickly shove the envy down and tell myself his stumbling response is embarrassing.

“Of course, I want you.” I can picture the way she’s probably swaying slightly, her hands clasped coyly behind her back as she looks up at him with those azure pools dancing with gold.

I shove my feet into my shoes and throw my wallet and phone into my pocket. I know where this is going. And it’s not to the gym with Bishop.

I don’t mean to slam my bedroom door as I exit but can’t help it when I see what she’s wearing. Ornotwearing. “Jesus Christ,” I scoff, doing a terrible job at hiding the gruff sound of lust in my tone.

She crosses her arms tighter over her bare chest, and her stomach tenses above a pair of Ecker’s boxers rolled at the waist a few times. She tries to reverse her automatic reaction of bashfulness and drops her arms, forcing her shoulders back. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, sugar tits.”

I try to ignore her but can’t keep my eyes from roving over her body. Her nipples pebble, and Bishop adjusts his junk with a low, barely there growl. The sort of unconscious sound I would probably make if I knew this arrogant display of hers was going to lead anywhere other than insufferable blue balls.

“Um, by the way . . .” She shifts on her feet like she can’t decide if she wants to step forward or not. “Thanks,” she says quickly, like she’s playing hot potato with the word.

I lift my brow in surprise. When she opened her mouth, a thank you was the last thing I expected.

“You know, for saving my ass.” I can tell it’s hard for her to look me in the eyes, but she tries nonetheless, a shocking amount of sincerity in hers when she says again, “Thank you.”

“It was a Trial,” I say gruffly. “I didn’t do it for you.”

She quickly erases the hurt that flashes on her face, and I curse myself.

Goddammit,why am I like this?

“I’m going into town,” I say brusquely without looking at either of them as I swallow down this shitty feeling and leave.

I have the Echelon driver drop me off at a gym downtown. Inside, I head straight for the locker rooms and climb out the back window. I don’t want their errand boy knowing where I’m really going and reporting back to the Elders.

Or worse, to Sinclair. I shiver at the uncomfortable thought.

I enjoy the short walk to my final destination, even if it is cutting through trash alleys and grungy side streets. Just being off the Estate and out from under the Echelon’s watchful eyes feels refreshing, relaxing almost.

Though, it’s likely they have eyes on this decrepit building. So, I sneak inside as soon as I arrive, making a mental note to figure out another way in for future visits.

I go directly to Simon Grinwald’s apartment. Standing in the hallway, I can hear the television playing inside. I knock one time before saying fuck it and kicking in the door.

“Whoa! What the hell?” Grinwald jumps up from his La-Z-Boy and reaches for the side table covered in Cheetos dust and water rings next to him.

“Don’t even think about it,” I warn, walking inside. “I’ll break your fucking arm before your finger ever gets near the trigger.”

His hand hovers in front of the side table drawer. “You want a demonstration? Go ahead, let’s see who’s quicker,” I goad him, blatantly hoping he tries and I have an excuse to get my hands a little bloody. Sparring with Bishop really would have been nice this morning.

Instead, I’m in this fucker’s apartment that smells like boiled eggs and sheets that haven’t been washed in months.

“I noticed you haven’t dealt with our problem.” I step closer, and he inches back.

“It’s barely been twenty-four hours,” he stammers.

“No, Simon, it’s been forty-two, and I gave you forty-eight.” My hands ball into fists and aggression races under my skin. It’s ridiculously difficult to not give in to the urge to knock him on his ass, but I don’t trust myself not to kill him if I start.

And killing him won’t solve anything.

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